


green eyes (i'd run away with you)

by MasqueofRedDeath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Boating, Bodyguard!Derek, Depression, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, booze, heavily implied step sibling incest(ish), rich step-sibling au, threesomes abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasqueofRedDeath/pseuds/MasqueofRedDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple months ago Derek would have said no, but he's come to realize that it's easier to do what Stiles and Lydia want. He's a bodyguard, not a babysitter, and Mr. Stilinski never actually blames Derek for the trouble they inevitably get into. </p><p>As long as Stiles isn't choking to death on his own vomit and Lydia doesn't punch the shit out of girls who look at her twice, Mr. Stilinski is happy. </p><p>"Derek, babe, take our picture," Stiles says from the back of the boat. "I wanna remember how happy we look before we go back to school." </p><p>They're out in the middle of the bay now, so Derek cuts the engine, takes Stiles' ridiculous Samsung I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-tablet and opens the camera app. He snaps a couple pictures of Lydia and Stiles lounging around, looking more bored and stoned than happy. Typical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	green eyes (i'd run away with you)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a rich step-sibling au inspired by a photo set i can no longer find of dylan and holland on the comic con boat last summer. it is full of spoiled, lonely stiles. it's VERY multi-pairing with a lot of scott-focus so if you're here for straight sterek, ive got some bad news 4 u
> 
> but thanks for everyone who's gotten hyped about this! there's two parts to this, but part one took me like 40 years so i dont know how long part two will take. 
> 
> notes below about the implied step sibling incest!!!

The day before the summer ends, Stiles and Lydia get Derek to take them out on a joy ride in their parent's boat. 

"It isn't the yacht," Stiles says. "Lighten the fuck up."

A couple months ago Derek would have said no, but he's come to realize that it's easier to do what Stiles and Lydia want. He's a bodyguard, not a babysitter, and Mr. Stilinski never actually blames Derek for the trouble they inevitably get into. 

As long as Stiles isn't choking to death on his own vomit and Lydia doesn't punch the shit out of girls who look at her twice, Mr. Stilinski is happy. 

"Derek, babe, take our picture," Stiles says from the back of the boat. "I wanna remember how happy we look before we go back to school." 

They're out in the middle of the bay now, so Derek cuts the engine, takes Stiles' ridiculous Samsung I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-tablet and opens the camera app. He snaps a couple pictures of Lydia and Stiles lounging around, looking more bored and stoned than happy. Typical.

"Look through them, pick the best one. Instagram," Stiles orders. 

He buries his face in his step-sister's hair. Lydia pats his face and yawns. Derek almost forgets why he likes these brats. He scrolls through the pictures and stops short when he goes one picture too far. It's a shot of Stiles in the boat's bathroom. Or more precisely, a shot of Stiles' lower stomach and happy trail in the boat's bathroom. Derek knows he should be embarrassed or offended, because Stiles obviously left that for him, but he just sighs and gives Stiles 'The Look'. Stiles grins back at him through the curtain of Lydia's hair. 

Derek almost posts the picture of Stiles’ stomach on his Instagram to make a point, but then he remembers Stiles is 17 and famous. Damn it. He chooses a shot where Lydia is smiling a little while Stiles rests his head against the railing. He puts the caption 'out in the bay w/ @lydiamartin' because Stiles hates it when he posts pictures without saying anything. He thinks it's impersonal. 

Lydia's phone pings and she makes a noise of approval when she sees the picture. "Cute," she says. 

"Take us around the bay, Jeeves. I want to be piss drunk by the time I touch land," Stiles says. He pulls the mini fridge in front of him open and Derek turns his back on them. 

17\. 

It's fucking sad, is what it is.

~*~

Stiles is hungover on the first day of school. He almost just stays home, but then he remembers he has a new car to speed into the student lot with, and there's no way Lydia is driving it. 

Derek is off this morning and Lydia and Stiles take the long way through the woods and get nice and baked before they get to school. They rip past the yellow school buses blasting some trap mix Lydia Shazamed from a club in LA. Stiles doesn't remember hearing the song, or anything else from that night. But he does remember Derek carrying him into his hotel room and putting him straight in the shower to rinse some of the vomit off. 

Fun night. 

Lydia turns the music down before Stiles can find a parking spot, cracking her window open. "Who's that with Allison?" she asks. 

Allison is Lydia's best friend and Allison's father owns one of the subsidiaries of Sheriff Ltd., Stiles' Dad's weapons and security conglomerate. One of the many rich kids at Beacon Hills Private Academy. But the tanned kid walking beside her is someone Stiles has never seen before. He lowers his sunglasses and stops the car, eyes running up and down the length of new guy. He isn't all that tall, and everything from his beat up JanSport to his wrinkled flannel shirt screams bargain bottom. 

"Freshman?" Stiles suggests. 

"Eww," Lydia says. 

By the time they get out of the car, Allison and the new guy have gone into the school. Stiles gets a text on the way in from his Dad. 

'GOOD LUCK KIDDO!!! BE HOME IN A WEEK!!!' it says, because his Dad doesn't know how to not yell when texting. Stiles shows it to Lydia. She grabs his hand and hugs his arm as Stiles pushes the doors open. 

~*~

The first warning bell rings just as Scott and Allison stop walking.  
Allison ends the grand tour of Beacon Hills Private Academy with Room 1919, Scott’s first class of the semester. "If you have any questions, you have my cell phone number," she says with a big dimply grin. "Just send me a text at lunch and you can come sit with me and my friends. Okay?"

"Okay," he breathes. Because Allison is just so... hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

She gives him a little wave and then goes off to her first class at the other side of the school. Scott watches her go, feeling a little bit like he just had his brain scrambled. If it weren't for some guy bodily pushing past him to get in the door, Scott probably could have stood there forever. 

"Jesus Christ," the guy mutters, and then shuts the door in Scott's face. 

Shit. Right. Class. 

Luckily their econ teacher is still organizing his notes. He gives Scott a smile and a nod, then jerks his chin towards the only free desk left in the class. It's at the back, beside the lanky, cranky looking guy who pushed him to get in the room. Scott's face flushes, because wow, he must have looked like a complete idiot. The dude has his head down in his folded arms, the hood of his sweater pulled up to block out the light. Scott plops down beside him and considers saying hello, but he can practically smell the hangover on the dude. 

Scott bites his bottom lip, jiggles his leg. Thinks. 

He needs to make friends and he needs to make them fast, but he doesn't want to rely on Allison too heavily. He's a big boy. He doesn't need the school appointed Welcome Committee to help him, no matter how cute and friendly said Welcome Committee is. 

Scott decides to put it all out there on Hungover Guy, even if he was kind of a dick to Scott a couple minutes ago. He ruffles through his bag until he finds the bottle of Gatorade his Mom packed in his lunch. 

"Hey," he whispers. 

Hungover Guy turns his head, but he has sunglasses on so Scott can't tell if he's looking at him or not. "What."

Scott holds out the Gatorade. "Here, drink this."

"Why. The fuck. Would I do that," Hungover Guy enunciates slowly. 

Scott would bet good money that's where most people stop with this dude, but Scott isn't easily deterred. He shrugs and sits back in his chair, but leaves the Gatorade on Hungover Guy's desk. "You're crazy hungover," Scott says, "and I don't see a water bottle anywhere."

The guy opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Finally he says, "True..." then a softer, "Thanks."

Scott gives him his winning grin. "No problem, bud."

Class finally starts then. Hungover Guy pops the top on the Gatorade and drinks almost all of it in one solid chug. 

Hungover Guy spends most of class playing on his phone and watches a couple Vines with the sound on low, but still loud enough that everyone can hear it. The teacher says, "Stilinski," like it's old habit and Stiles says, "Yes dear?" sweetly. 

When class ends ‘Stilinski’ finally pulls off his sunglasses and drops a Lacoste knapsack onto his desk, shoves his unopened MacBook into it and stretches until his back pops. Scott closes his notebook and waits for a couple of girls to pass behind him before he gets out of his seat. 

"I'm Scott, by the way," he says.

Stilinski stares at him for a second, squinting. Then he grins. "Are you the guy who walked in with Allison this morning?"

Scott nods happily. "Yeah! She was showing me around. She's super nice."

Stilinski rolls his eyes. "Hmm," is all he says. Scott doesn't know what that's supposed to mean, but he gets the feeling that asking for some elaboration would do absolutely nothing with this guy. 

"What's your name?" Scott asks. 

Stilinski shoves his way out of his desk and gets to his feet in a big, uncoordinated tangle. Scott almost asks if he needs help, but the guy rights himself and flicks the arms of his sunglasses open. "I'm Stiles," he says. He picks up the empty bottle of Gatorade. "Thanks for this. I owe you one."

Scott shrugs. "You don't owe me anything. I was just being nice."

For some reason that gets him a weird look, but Stiles shakes his head and lets it go. "So... What class do you have next?" Stiles asks. 

Ding-ding-ding! 

Scott knew he'd get this guy. He pulls his timetable out of his back pocket. The printer fucked up the two middle columns of his schedule and Scott struggles to read what it says for a minute before Stiles snatches it right out of his hand. 

He glances at it for a second and must like what he sees. "Oh, Portable 17," he says. "You have that class with me and my step-sister." 

"What's the subject?" Scott asks. "I couldn't read that at all."

If Stiles hears him it doesn't seem to matter. "Come on," he says, pounding something into his phone. "We're going to meet up with Lydia and walk out there together."

~*~

There's a redheaded girl leaning next to a bulletin board for the French club. She's aggressively pretty and it doesn't look like she's paying attention to any of the people talking to her. 

Stiles shouts, "Lyds!" and she turns her head to look right at them. Her expression shifts immediately and when she sees Scott with Stiles she's absolutely beaming. It isn't a nice kind of smile, though, and for the first time Scott clues in that maybe making friends with a rude, rich asshole with a raging hangover on the first day of school might not be the best idea. 

But what could it hurt? Scott was raised not to judge people based on first impressions alone. Lydia makes a beeline for them and grabs on to Stiles' arm. "Stiles, who's your friend?" she asks. 

"This, Lydia my darling, is Scott. He's new."

Lydia extends a hand to him and he takes it. Her grip is a hell of a lot tighter than Scott expects. "Hey," Scott says. 

Lydia glances from Stiles to Scott and back again, then lets an easy grin cross her face. "Portable 17?" she says. 

Stiles laughs, and Scott really doesn't get what's so funny about English class(? Scott still isn't sure, but through process of elimination it must be English). Lydia and Stiles guide him out through a set of doors beside the huge gymnasium, but instead of going towards the portables Lydia grabs his arm and starts marching him over to the parking lot. 

"Wait, what are you - ?" 

"Stay cool, Scotty," Stiles says through his teeth. 

Lydia gives him a pointed look, like she's daring him to refuse, but Scott just ignores the guilt sinking his gut and follows them to a black Porsche. Stiles pulls a key fob out of his jacket pocket and the locks pop open without a sound. He opens the back door for Scott while Lydia slides in the front passenger's seat. 

"Portable 17 doesn't exist, does it," Scott says. 

Stiles snaps a piece of gum Scott didn't know he was chewing and grins like a smug, fat cat. Scott sighs and says, "You're a bad influence", but he gets in the car anyway. 

~*~

'Portable 17' turns out to be codeword for 'drive into the country and listen to music'. 

Which Scott should so not be doing on the first day of school. He should be in class. His Mom managed to get him a scholarship to Beacon Hills Private Academy by begging the head surgeon at the hospital to recommend him. If Deaton hadn't lied and counted his hours at the clinic over the summer as 'volunteer work', he'd still be taking the bus for an hour every morning to Beacon Public. It's kind of stupid, when he thinks about it, that the only motivation he had behind getting into BHPA was the seven minute bus ride. 

On the other hand, it's his first day. And his schedule is unreadable. Not his fault, really. 

He just wants to make friends. 

"Remind me to never drink again," Stiles groans. "Scotty, be a dear and write it down. Stiles is never, ever allowed to drink again."

"Noted," Scott says. 

Lydia laughs, hollow. "Maybe you should tell that to your drinking therapist."

"Shut the fuck up," Stiles spits. "She's not a drinking therapist. She's a grief therapist." 

"Drinking is a form of grief."

"We don't even talk about grief anymore. Can you mind your own business?" 

Scott gets the distinct impression that this is something they shouldn’t be talking about in front of a guy they just met, but he also gets the impression that Lydia and Stiles don’t really care that he’s there to begin with. 

Lydia makes an angry noise and pops open the glove compartment. Scott's stomach does a little flip when he sees the bag of weed shoved in there.

Stiles turns around in his seat to look at Scott, like he just remembered Scott was back there. "You burn?" he asks and Scott shakes his head. "Seriously?" 

Scott swallows. When did his throat get dry? He almost reaches for his Gatorade, but Stiles drank it. "I, uh, have asthma." 

Lydia swivels around and they both stare at him like he's a dog that just spoke Latin. Then Stiles reaches over and rolls Scott's window down. "Tell us if we're irritating your gentle baby lungs," Stiles says with a smirk. 

"Should you really be smoking weed if you're driving?" Scott says, just a little too quiet to sound not absolutely terrified. 

They're going to get arrested. Scott is going to jail. And his Mom is going to break into the jail and kill him in his sleep. For sure. 

Stiles and Lydia seem to have a conversation without words and then a second later they're getting out of the car, shooing Scott right out of the backseat. 

"You can drive, right?" Stiles asks, but he's already tossing Scott the keys. 

Scott doesn't really know how it happens, but he's in the driver's seat of the Porsche, twisted around awkwardly so he can watch Stiles and Lydia smoke weed out of a pipe. 

They ask him where he's from, how old he is, what he likes to do and all the other basic questions, but Scott can tell Lydia isn't really paying attention and Stiles is so high that ends up putting his head in Lydia's lap, humming feebly along with the song his phone is playing through the speakers. 

"Take us to Taco Bell," he whispers to Lydia’s knee, like it’s a secret.

It's probably the weirdest, most alienating half-hour of Scott's life, but it's almost worth it to burn down the road back to the city in the Porsche. 

~*~

They get back to school at lunchtime with so much Taco Bell that Scott needs to carry some of it in his backpack to the lunch table. Scott stops in the door of the cafeteria, unsure, and Stiles stops with him. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. 

Scott pulls out his phone, biting his lip. "I was supposed to meet someone for lunch..."

Stiles wraps an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, but you've got me and Lyds now. So fuck them, right?"

"I don't think I should - "

Stiles takes Scott's phone out of his hand and walks away. Scott just gapes at him, because really? What the fuck? 

He clenches his fists around the straps of his backpack and stalks after Stiles, feeling like he wants to punch him, but knowing he can't. And he won't, because Scott is better than that. 

Rich kids. This school is full of them and that's just something Scott has to get used to. 

Plus Stiles bought him Taco Bell. 

Scott chases Stiles through the shifting herds of students and stops short at a table beside one of the cafeteria's three windows. Lydia is already sitting with a couple GQ models, Stiles and, lo and behold, Allison. 

Stiles waves at Scott with his shitty LG slide phone and then tosses it to him. Scott almost drops it, and shoves it into his pants before putting his backpack of Taco Bell on the table. 

"Hey," he says to Allison, and only to Allison. 

Allison says "Hey, why weren't you in English this morning?" 

Stiles giggles high in his throat and one of the guys lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh Jesus," says the other guy. 

Allison's face drops and she elbows Lydia. "Are you kidding? You Portable 17-ed him?"

Everyone at the table bursts out laughing and Scott's heart sinks. He fucked up. This was a test, and Scott failed. Allison looks pissed and Stiles wraps an arm around Scott's shoulders, jostles him around. 

"I'm sorry?" Scott says. Stiles is trying to give him tacos, but Scott pushes them away. "I really thought they were taking me to class at first..."

 

Allison sighs. "It isn't your fault," she says. "It's these two convicts."

"Chill," Stiles says. "He didn't even smoke with us. He totally pulled a Derek."

"Derek?" Scott asks, because he is so lost, but Allison doesn't look mad anymore so he takes one of the tacos. 

"Their bodyguard," Allison says. 

"And driver," Lydia adds. 

One of the GQ models coughs "Babysitter" and Lydia snarls, "Shut the fuck up, Jackson."

"He sucked my dick once," Stiles says dreamily and the other GQ model starts choking on his quinoa salad. 

"Breathe much, Danny?" Jackson laughs. Lydia pounds him on the back until he stops coughing and Allison says, "Stiles, you're so full of shit."

Stiles shrugs. "It's a work in progress," he admits. 

Allison puts her head in her hands and gives Scott a pleading look. "Feel like running for the hills yet?" 

"They’re not so bad," Scott says, and takes a big bite of taco. "And Stiles did buy us lunch, so..."

Allison snickers, and from the corner of Scott's eye he can see Stiles stare at him. 

~*~

Derek is at the house when Stiles and Lydia get home. Lydia doesn't even look at him, just drops her bag on the marble kitchen island where Derek is eating cereal and stomps off to her room. 

"You have anger management at six!" Derek calls after her, and she flips him off over her shoulder. 

Some days Derek imagines putting Lydia on a raft and waving as the currents take her far, far away but most days he just wants to stand in front of her and make sure nothing touches a hair on her brilliant little head. 

Stiles comes trailing in after and sets his bag beside Lydia’s. He doesn't say anything, just pulls the fridge door open and takes out the milk jug. 

"Use a glass," Derek warns him. 

Stiles looks him in the eyes and drinks right out of the jug. A lot of Derek's job is picking his battles, and he doesn't want to bother with this one. Stiles comes over and sits beside him, feet banging against the metal legs of the stool in that weird rhythm Stiles always picks out. 

"Is Lydia's Mom home?" Stiles asks. 

"Nope."

"Wanna make out?"

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles and sticks out his tongue so Stiles can see his chewed cereal. "Nope," he says with his mouth full. 

"Hot," Stiles mumbles. 

He puts his head down on the counter. 

"What's wrong?" Derek asks, and he pretends he asks because it's his job. "Hungover?"

"I'm okay." Stiles hides half his face in his arm and just stares at Derek unabashedly. "You're very beautiful. Have I ever told you that?" 

"Maybe once," Derek says, and slurps the milk out of his bowl as loud as he can because he knows Stiles hates it. "Twice at the most."

"You're disgusting."

"Disgusting and beautiful," Derek smirks and Stiles kicks him. "I'm still not going to make out with you, so stop sucking up. What's wrong with you?" 

Stiles makes an angry noise and puts his face right down in his arms. He doesn't say anything but Derek knows how this game goes. He can wait pretty much forever, but Stiles never takes more than three minutes to spill, four and a half at the most. 

"I made a friend," Stiles finally says. 

"Congratulations."

Stiles ignores Derek. He probably has his fingers in his ears so he can't hear himself talk. "Me and Lydia made him skip school, then we drove him out into the country, got high in the backseat of my car and he had to drive us back to school."

"Classic," Derek sighs. 

"But he was so nice about it," Stiles plows on. "Do you think he just wants a rich friend to buy him shit? I was such a dick to him. I'm an idiot."

Derek's heard enough. He nudges Stiles until he moves his arm and then waits until Stiles takes his hands away from his ears. "Listen to me Stiles, because I'm only going to say this once." Which isn't true, because Derek says this about once every other week. "You're worth more than the money your Dad has in the bank, okay?" 

"Then why won't you have sex with me?" Stiles pouts, because this is familiar territory and Stiles doesn't want to talk about friends and his lack thereof anymore. 

"You're 17," Derek says. “As for your new friend, just be yourself.”

Stiles ignores the second part, grins and scoots his chair closer. "I'm hearing not hearing a no to the sex."

Derek levels him a glare and says, "No." 

"Awe, come on!" 

"No."

"Just a blow job."

"No, Stiles."

"Fine, make outs."

"When hell freezes over."

"Cuddling?" 

"Cuddle yourself."

"You suck."

"You wish I did. Now go do your homework."

~*~

Scott falls into a routine.

Scott sits with Stiles, Lydia, Allison, Jackson and Danny every day at lunch.

By the second week Stiles starts picking him up on the way to school. Most days Lydia gets a ride with Jackson, who she's on-again off-again dating. It's kind of awkward at first, because Stiles mostly talks about partying and drinking and that time he went down on Selena Gomez (which no one can verify, but after some Googling it turns out that yeah, they kind of dated for a while). Scott is a little intimidated because it turns out that Stiles has a fanbase. Like, there are groups of teenage girls that wait outside of ice cream shops and crowd together at airports for a chance to take a picture of him. One time they stop for gas on the way to school and Stiles gets bombarded with paparazzi. It's surreal, because so many people want a piece of Stiles... And at the beginning Scott really doesn't see the appeal. 

Stiles is high all the time and he never does any of his homework. He's kind of a bummer to be around, like a bored robot with good cologne, but he never comments on the bungalow Scott and his Mom live in. He doesn't make fun of Scott's clothes like some of the other kids, and when they go to the mall together Stiles will buy them lunch but never offer to pay for the stuff Scott buys in the stores. Scott doesn't need him to. He has a job. The charity is unwelcomed. 

It's a weird sort of friendship limbo, where they talk about clubs and liquor and music Scott really doesn't like. Almost a month into school Scott finally realizes that Stiles always sort of lingers in the driveway after he drops Scott off, so finally Scott invites him inside. 

It's like someone flips a switch and all the calculated cool washes off. Stiles literally skips after him into the house. He falls in love with Scott's cat, Big Wolf, and goes nuts when he sees the VHS collection still stacked beside the TV. They make something Scott's Mom calls pizza crackers and Stiles chatters excitedly about Wrestlemania and how his Dad taught him to do a half-Nelson when he was a kid. 

Once Stiles starts talking about his Dad, Scott starts to see things a lot differently. Stiles is such a stereotypical rich kid, with the flashy car and the designer jeans and the aggressive 'die young' attitude. Scott sort of expected him to hate his Dad, or resent him some way. Have a total My Sweet Sixteen douchebag meltdown. Scott would have had a hard time holding it against him, though, because the last time Scott's Dad was back in town the neighbours had to call the police about a domestic disturbance from all the shouting. 

When Scott tells him about his own Dad, Stiles doesn't judge. He says, "That sucks, man. Do you want my Dad to send someone over here? We could hook you up with a security system you wouldn't believe..."

Scott doesn't know what's worse. Hating your Dad's guts and never seeing him, or loving your Dad to pieces and never seeing him. It's pretty clear which one of them isn't handling the situation well. 

"He's just gone a lot because of the merger," Stiles keeps saying. "When it's over he said we're going to go camping. Maybe you could come with us!"

The whole situation bothers Scott, but Stiles never wants to talk more about it.

Stiles starts coming in with Scott after school every day and they do homework at the coffee table and watch MTV, which is weird because a lot of the celebrities are people Stiles has met. Otherwise, it's all pretty... normal. 

But there's still something so… off about Stiles. He gets quiet when Scott hugs his Mom, lingers in the front hallway when he has to leave. Sometimes Scott catches him staring at nothing, and at first he assumes it’s because he’s high, but lately he’s not so sure it isn’t something bigger. The first time Stiles stays the night he has to drive home to get his own pillow. It’s old and flat and has a Space Jam pillow case, so faded and threadbare that Scott can just barely make out Bugs Bunny and Michael Jordan leaning back to back on it. 

“I let my Mom use my pillow,” Stiles admits in the dark, when they can’t see each other and Stiles can pretend Scott is asleep. “When she was sick, I put it behind her head and she said it made her feel like I was with her even when I was at home.”

“That’s really sweet,” Scott says. 

Stiles clears his throat, and for a second it feel like he’s about to say something, but then Scott hears his breathing go heavy and even if he isn’t actually asleep, Scott knows better than to push him too far. 

~*~

Stiles and Lydia are alone together a lot, but they're rarely the only people in the house. Usually Derek is around, doing his homework in the library or working out in the private gym on his days off. There's also Helena, their cleaning lady, who moves through the house so quiet sometimes that Stiles forgets she's there. 

Lydia often has a gaggle of her friends lounging around, and Allison is always over. Allison's Dad comes and visits the house once a week whenever their parents are away, and Lydia's Mom usually shows up at odd hours to crash before getting up at 5 in the morning to catch a plane off to wherever. Lately Scott’s been taking up space on the couch, begging Stiles to get off his ass and go for a swim in the infinity pool with him. 

There's also usually a gardener somewhere on the property, Jacob the pool boy every other Saturday and when Derek has his days off some guy named Michael brings them groceries and makes them dinner. Stiles' Dad's personal assistant/Derek's sister, Laura, comes by to see how they're doing when Stiles' Dad is really swamped and worried. 

So days like today, where it's just Stiles and Lydia, are rare. 

Derek is on a hiking trip with some of his buddies from the community college basketball team he's on. It's Sunday so no Helena or Jacob and Derek made sure they had enough groceries before they left. Chris is away in New York with Stiles' Dad, Lydia's Mom is at a charity gala in London for the Alzheimer's and Dementia Society, and it's pouring down rain so no gardeners.

Stiles and Lydia start off at opposite ends of the couch, watching Zoolander just because it's on but neither of them are laughing. The house echoes with the rain and it's cold in the living room because neither of them have bothered to turn up the thermostat. 

Slowly, like boulders sliding across Death Valley, Stiles and Lydia find themselves pressed together in the middle of the couch. 

Lydia sighs and runs her fingers through his hair. "I'm bored," she says, and Stiles knows what that means. He's bored too. Bored and lonely. “Call Scott.”

“Scott’s at his Abuela’s for the weekend,” Stiles grumbles. “He wouldn’t shut up about going all week.”

Lydia’s leaning against him now, solid warm weight that makes the room seem just a little bit smaller. Stiles puts an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. When he pulls away Lydia is smirking at him and Stiles rolls his eyes. Whatever. She's just as much to blame for this as he is. 

Lydia kisses his cheek, then Stiles kisses her nose and they go back and forth. Eyebrows, chins, hairline—they play kiss chicken like they used to when they were 14, in the coat closets of a dozen never-ending gatherings and galas and formal events. Lydia finally plants one on his lips and Stiles feels his heart speed up, catch in his throat. 

There's something deliciously weird about kissing Lydia. They were both already teenagers when they met and Stiles would be lying if he said he'd never had a crush on her in his life, but she's his step-sister. It's a title Lydia doesn't try to wash off.

Stiles beats Lydia's kiss on the lips by practically sticking his tongue halfway down her throat, and Lydia tops that by climbing into his lap and shimmying her hips. Bras get unclasped. Jeans are unbuttoned. Lydia pulls off her sweatpants and they're kissing and grinding in their underwear to the sound of Ben Stiller and the rain when the proximity alarm beeps and Lydia shouts, falls back off of the couch and lands on her ass. 

It probably isn't funny, but Stiles laughs anyway and pulls his pants up, willing his dick to calm down before whoever the hell is in the driveway gets to the house. He’s never had sex with Lydia, and never would. Not in a million years. But three glasses of stolen champagne and a pile of fur coats when they were 16 set the standard for kiss chicken a little bit too high. Jacqueline, the woman who dressed Stiles for events, never found out where those Roberto Cavalli slacks went.

The Dumpster behind a Ritz-Carlton in Toronto, that’s where. 

Lydia flips Stiles’ off and pulls her sweatpants back on. 

"I totally won," she says. 

"Like hell you did."

The front door opens and Lydia and Stiles scramble to get to opposite ends of the couch, trying to portray 'We weren't doing anything weird'. Stiles feels kind of sweaty and his heart is still pounding in his ears. He puts a foot up on the coffee table and looks over the back of the couch as casual as he can when Derek comes in. He's absolutely drenched, his white t-shirt sticking to the sharp dip of his waist, the broad set of his shoulders. 

Stiles wants to lick him. His dick is still kind of hard from Lydia, and he grabs one of the throw pillows, puts it on his lap.

"We got rained out," Derek says. "You guys want to get pizza and watch movies or something tonight?"

Lydia keeps facing the TV, but Stiles can see that she's trying not to smile. 

"Sounds like a plan, my man," Stiles says.

~*~

Scott goes to the movies with Allison, Danny and a couple other kids from school one Saturday in October. Kira, Erica, Boyd and Allison's ex-boyfriend Isaac come too and they get frozen yogurt after and talk about some party everyone but Scott and Kira went to last weekend. Isaac spends the whole night practically glued to Scott's side. It turns out they're both Blink 182 superfans and Isaac basically does a backflip when he sees the picture Scott got with Tom Delonge when he was fourteen.

At the end of the night Scott takes Allison home in his Mom's car. He tries not to feel small and dirt poor when they pull into her family's gated community. Allison’s family isn’t as aggressively rich as Stiles’, and her Mom works from home so there’s always someone around to make sure she meets curfew. They’re half an hour early because Victoria Argent scares the balls off of Scott. 

“Well, see you later,” Allison says. She knots her hands up in the sleeves of her sweater, looks from the outlines of her knuckles up to Scott again. “I guess,” she adds. 

“Yeah…” he says, looking out his window at the front of her house. There’s a light on in the kitchen, but no one is at the window. He tries to give himself a pep talk in his head, but it turns into his Mom saying, ‘Kiss her, dumbass. And stop leaving your underwear in the bathroom’.

He can do this. He can kiss Allison. And he really should start picking his underwear up. 

Scott swallows hard, imagines he’s stuffing his nerves down, down, down. And then he’s turning back to Allison, leaning over the console… Allison giggles and leans forward herself, meeting him halfway. Their lips touch once, almost too quick to count—

And then Allison’s phone starts vibrating off of the dash with an onslaught of texts. 

"Is she fucking serious?" Allison growls. 

"What happened?" he asks. And then, “Oh my God, is it your Mom?!”

Allison gives him a look and he shuts his mouth. “It’s Lydia,” she says. 

“Oh.”

He knows he should ask what’s wrong, but Scott sort of doesn't want to know. Lydia and Stiles problems are never normal problems. Someone is always being carried out of somewhere or being questioned by the cops or punching someone in the face. It took a while for Stiles to realize that instead of enjoying his drunken mishaps, most of his stories just kind of made Scott sad. 

Because none of the stories ever mentioned either of them having any fun. 

"Lydia called Jenna McCarthy a fugly slut. Again." Allison looks like she's a few seconds away from throwing her phone, but instead she just takes an unsteady breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. "She's at a house party on the East Side and they're about to fight."

"Is her bodyguard there?" 

Allison shakes her head, looking equal parts angry and scared. "Derek has the night off." Allison undoes her seatbelt, then hesitates. "I should let her get her ass kicked. I should just... I should - "

"Where's the party?" Scott asks, starting the car. 

Allison sighs and gives him a weak smile. "It's off Crest Avenue."

Allison calls Stiles on the way over and by the time they get there a massive black SUV with 'SHERIFF LTD.' on the side is pulling up on the other side of the road. 

Scott expects Stiles to get out, but instead a massive dude with messy black hair and stubble slams the driver's door. He's in a pair of pajama pants and a red sweater with thumbholes, but he's still probably one of the most imposing guys Scott has ever seen. It might just be the murder glare, though. Stiles comes running around front of the truck, chewing on his bottom lip. 

The bearded guy manages to look absolutely livid even when he yawns. It’s almost like he’s silently roaring. Snaps his mouth shut like he’s digging his teeth into the night as he cracks his neck side to side. The guy storms up across the lawn, leaving the three of them to scurry after him. 

"That's Derek," Stiles says quietly, like he's afraid of Derek hearing them. 

"Your bodyguard?" 

Allison says, "His personal chef."

"And he’s training my glutes back into shape," Stiles adds half-heartedly. 

Scott's used to this game, where everyone lists all the shit poor mysterious Derek has to do for Lydia and Stiles. Scott’s only ever been over when Derek’s been out of the house with Lydia, or on his day off. Two months of friendship and this is the first time Scott’s ever seen the guy. He’s gotta say…

Bodyguard is probably what Derek's going to put down on his resume. 

The house is a mess of Solo cups and abandoned shot glasses. The air has that ripe sweat-and-liquor smell with a nice hint of weed and vomit. Scott can't even hear the music over the sound of people cheering on the fight in the living room. 

He doesn't see much of the fight. Derek disappears into the crowd and then the music cuts off with a loud crash. 

"Did he just smash their stereo?" Allison asks. 

Stiles says, "Probably." He crosses his arms and pretends to be casual, but Scott can see he's nervous. 

"MOVE," Derek roars somewhere in the crowd.

A short fourteen seconds later and Lydia is slung across Derek's shoulders in a fireman's hold.

"Holy shit," Stiles mutters and Derek shoots him a look that could wither plants. 

"Get in the fucking truck," Derek says. It’s dangerously calm, like he’s telling them the weather. 

Stiles salutes Scott and Allison with two fingers. "See you guys on Monday," he says. His voice is just a few octaves too high. "If Lydia survives the night she'll be there too."

They’re out of the door for a heartbeat, not long enough for Scott and Allison to process the situation, when Jackson stumbles down the stairs so drunk he can’t keep himself upright. “Can I go home now?” Jackson asks weakly, and then proceeds to throw up on Scott’s shoes. 

It’s still the best first date Scott’s ever had. 

~*~

Derek doesn't say a single word the whole way home. When Stiles tries to turn up the radio he grabs his hand and gently puts it back in Stiles' lap. 

Lydia mumbles something in the back, completely tanked and out of it. 

Derek gets kind of scary when he's angry and Stiles has always hated how much he likes it. It's like he's their Papa Bear and Stiles and Lydia are his cubs. Which is a depressing analogy, because Stiles' Dad should be Papa Bear, but in the past two months his Dad has been home a record thirteen days. 

Stiles misses how easy it was when he was a kid and could go with his Dad. He had a nanny and a tutor after his Mom died, and his Dad would tuck him in every night and bring him to meetings. Stiles used to sit under the board table and play with his toy cars. He got to eat little gourmet pizza's for lunch with his Dad almost every day. 

After Stiles' Dad remarried... It wasn't the same. 

He kept getting into trouble and Lydia seemed to magnify Stiles' natural propensity for starting shit. At 13 they both got smashed on pilfered booze at a charity event and a couple weeks later Lydia got all four of them permanently banned from a Chipotle in San Diego for tripping a waitress, which ended up in a tabloid. By the time they were 14 Stiles and Lydia were on the front cover of every other shitty garbage magazine with some rendition of the term 'PROBLEM CHILD' splashed over their scowling faces. 

Sometimes Stiles likes to read about all the coke he apparently snorts while he takes bubble baths and listens to Michael Buble. 

Stiles and Lydia have been planted in Beacon Hills since they were 15, with an ever changing host of surly nannies and stoic bodyguards. Derek is the only one to stick around for close to a year, and it's times like this that Stiles wonders how. 

They pull up to the house and Derek has his door open without shutting the engine off. Stiles takes the keys when Derek is in the back, hoping that maybe if he hides them Derek won't leave. Lydia's Mom was supposed to be home this week, but she's not and Stiles has been alone all night and is going to be alone again once Lydia goes to bed and Derek goes home. 

Lydia throws up in the kitchen sink before Derek gets the mop bucket out of the closet and trucks her up the stairs to her bedroom. Stiles runs the tap nervously, trying to clean it up before Derek comes back down, but Derek doesn't spare him a glance. He grabs Lydia's gym water bottle and shoves it under the tap until it's full then thunders back up the stairs. Stiles hears Lydia yell at him for a few minutes, but Derek doesn't shout back and eventually Stiles sits down at the kitchen island with nerves bunching up his stomach. 

When Derek comes back he flicks the kitchen lights on and they both blink at the sudden brightness. Stiles hadn't even noticed he was sitting in the dark. 

Derek rests his hips against the drawers and holds onto the countertop, his head dropping down. "It's my night off," Derek finally says. 

Stiles says, "I know."

"I just wanted to sleep."

And Stiles repeats, "I know."

"This is not normal, okay? None of this is fucking normal. Where the hell are your parents?!" Derek jabs his own chest with all of his fingers, looking just a little bit crazed. "I'm twenty-one, Stiles. I'm only four fucking years older than the two of you."

Stiles forces himself to stare at Derek's face, makes goddamned sure he doesn't cry even though he knows what this is. He's heard it all before. 

"What are you going to do?" Stiles asks. 

Derek rubs his face with his hands and turns the sink on so he can drink straight from the faucet. He snaps it shut with a sharp flick of his wrist. "I don't know," Derek mutters, wiping his wet chin. Stiles would find it mind numbingly hot if he wasn’t already mind-numbingly terrified. 

Stiles voice wavers a little when he asks, "Are you going to quit?" and he kind of hates himself for it. 

"Quit?" Derek starts. "What? No. Why would I quit?"

"Because we're awful." He doesn’t say “Because we're problem children. Our parents are never home. We're lonely. We're angry. You shouldn't have to deal with it.” 

He doesn't say any of it, but Derek knows. Derek has always known. He holds a hand out to Stiles, who takes it a little too eagerly. Derek must have meant for Stiles to lace their fingers together because he doesn't roll his eyes or anything. 

"It's not your fault," Derek grumbles. He lets go of Stiles' hand and pushes off of the counter. "Get me a pillow. I'm sleeping on the couch."

~*~

Derek crashes out on the massive leather sectional while Stiles watches The Real World near his feet. He notices when Stiles starts running his thumb in circles over the skin of his ankle, but Derek pretends he's still asleep so he doesn't have to make Stiles stop.

~*~

"I had to drive Jackson home," Scott says on Monday morning. "He threw up in my Mom's car and I spent all yesterday cleaning it up." 

Stiles makes a face and tugs his trig textbook out from under the stack of college brochures he's been ignoring. "Gross."

"More than gross. I didn't even do anything bad on Saturday." Scott tries to swallow down the giddy feeling, remembering Saturday and how close he'd gotten to kissing Allison. "But it wasn't all shit..."

"Did you hit it off with Scarves McGee?" Stiles asks. He sounds a little bitter, but Allison warned him that Isaac was a sore spot for Stiles already. 

Scott shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," he says. He fake-tackles Stiles into a garbage can and laughs when Stiles squawks. "But you're still Numero Uno."

"Good. It better stay that way." 

They stop outside Stiles' trig class, waiting for the final bell for Stiles to go in. Scott has a free period and he usually spends it watching movies on his laptop in the cafeteria. Today he's got some old school scifi DVD Stiles lent him. 

"Hey, so...." Stiles starts. "I was wondering, uh."

"Wondering?"

Stiles waves a hand around, like he always does when he can't find his words. "Yeah, you know. Thinking a bunch. I mean, it's not for a little while but maybe... Would you want to come to my birthday party?" 

"Shit, of course! Why wouldn't I?" 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and shuffles backwards a bit. "I know you don't drink or smoke or anything and you don't like the whole," he mimics a camera taking a picture, "you know. But Lydia is throwing my party at a club in LA that doesn’t ID and we're going to go down in a party bus with a bunch of people.” He quickly adds, “Allison is going,” before Scott can say anything.

Scott snorts and smacks Stiles in the shoulder. "It's your birthday, bro. It doesn't matter if Allison is there or not. We'll have fun." 

Stiles grins at him and says, "I'm gonna hug you now."

And he does, so tight Scott has to pry him off to breathe. 

~*~ 

By the time the final bell rings all anyone can talk about is Stiles' party and whether or not they'll get invited. 

Scott doesn't really think much of it. Party bus, yeah. Cool. And alcohol somehow, even though everyone going is 18 and under. But whatever. When he gets home his Mom tells him he can have a few drinks if he’s responsible, but gives him a fourteen minute long safe sex speech (with drawings!) until Scott wants to evaporate and ascend into a cloud. 

It isn't until November 16th, when Scott is wedged in between Allison and Danny with a beer in his hand on a party bus motoring down the coast (with Derek reading an e-book with his headphones in at the back) that Scott remembers Stiles has a life outside of Beacon Hills, one he's never been a part of. 

Scott has seen Stiles drunk. He's seen him drunk and high and falling all over the place. Scott doesn't drink, always offers to be the DD, but he's been to a couple of house parties with Stiles, and picked Lydia and Stiles up from more than a few. Halloween was a solid six hours of Stiles running around drunk in a Spiderman costume and the night before Homecoming Scott and Stiles sat in the Stilinski's home theatre and watched two whole seasons of Adventure Time because Stiles was so baked he didn't understand the passage of time.

But this is LA. This is the stuff that makes it into the tabloids, which is weird in and of itself. Last week while Scott was at the grocery store with his Mom the Pacific Prowler told him that Stiles had spent the weekend with his pregnant teenage girlfriend in West Hollywood. 

That was bullshit though, because Stiles had been at a family barbecue. Scott knew—he brought the potato salad to celebrate Stiles' birthday and his Dad being home for the next two weeks. 

But now he's here on the party bus, horrendously under dressed and not sure of how to proceed. It gets worse when the bus stops at the hotel and everyone is drunk except for the driver, Scott and Derek. They all stumble out in a noisy, glittery mess and Scott follows after everyone, unsure of what to do. 

"You get used to it," Derek sighs. He pulls off his reading glasses and flips open his wallet. There's a company credit card and Scott goes up to the front desk with him and helps everyone get checked into their rooms. 

"I think I have a spare dress shirt or something," Derek says as they climb the stairs to the fourth floor together. Everyone had tried to jam into the elevator together and Derek had led him over to the stairwell with a soft, "Let them figure it out."

"Oh, thanks. That'd be cool." 

Derek smiles at him, and he's a hell of a lot different than the half-crazed guy in the plaid flannel pants that had smashed a stereo and carried Lydia out of that house party like a caveman. 

"It's a lot to get used to, but you do. Eventually." He holds the door open for Scott and says, "Plus there's a lot of free food at these things. I've been saving room for sausage rolls all week." 

Stiles and Scott are sharing a room for the weekend (an arrangement Stiles had been over the moon about), but the elevator must have gotten lost, or gone all the way up to the pool on the top floor. Derek lets Scott into his room, the one he has alone, and it's probably one of the nicest hotel rooms Scott's ever seen in his life. 

There's a fireplace with a flat-screen above it and the bed looks like something straight out of a Sears catalogue. 

Derek drops his duffle bag on it and riffles through his neatly folded clothes until he pulls out a sheer blue dress shirt. It's a bit big on Scott, but it's better than the sort-of nice grey polo he'd been wearing because his Mom told him to.

"You know, it's weird," Scott says as they both sit on Derek's bed and drink imported beer from the mini fridge. "I've been Stiles' friend since September and I think I've met you once."

Derek flicks through the channels with the weirdly futuristic remote, settles on a re-run of The Walking Dead. 

"I think Stiles is embarrassed about me," Derek admits. "Lydia too. They act like I'm their nanny."

"Hate to break it to you, but you sort of are."

Derek laughs into his bottle and slouches a little against the headboard. "They're good kids. Sometimes."

They sit in relative silence for a while, mostly because Scott starts watching the show and forgets that he's having a beer with Stiles' terrifying bodyguard when he should be pre-drinking with his friends, partying it up. He wants to, mostly. It's just...

"Are there going to be, like, celebrities at this thing?" 

Derek shrugs. "Probably. But more often than not you don't even notice someone is famous until they've spilt their drink on you."

"You know from experience?" 

Derek does this weird thing where he lifts his eyebrows, but lowers them at the same time and tips his bottle back. Scott watches his throat as he swallows and feels his own tightening up. 

This is all a part of Stiles' and Lydia's life, something all of his friends don't even think twice about because they're all used to it. Scott isn't. Derek probably wasn't before he started working for the Stilinski-Martin's. Scott looks around for something to talk about, because the room is too quiet. He notices the keychain on the zipper of Derek’s luggage, recognizes the logo. 

“You went to Beacon Public?” Scott asks. 

Derek lowers his beer, grinning a little at him. “Yeah, I did. Stiles said you went there?” 

“For three years. But BHPA was closer to my house, and it looks good on college applications…” 

“True. Did you know—” Derek stops himself and looks down at his beer. “Wait, no. You wouldn’t.”

“I knew a lot of people. You’d be surprised.”

Derek shrugs, picking at the label of his beer. “Probably not,” is all he says. 

Scott’s phone starts ringing and it’s Lydia and Allison on the other end, telling him there’s a hot tub and a bar upstairs and he needs to be there, he needs to be there or he isn’t allowed back on the bus. “They’re all in the pool,” Scott says as he hangs up. “I guess I should go with them.”

Derek snorts. “Don’t sound so excited.” He kicks off his shoes and gets comfy. “Make sure they’re dried off by seven.” 

Scott salutes him, and only realizes in the elevator that it’s a habit he’s picked up from hanging around Stiles all the time. The doors open to the top floor and Iggy Azalea is blasting, everyone is swimming in their underwear and Stiles has a drink in each hand. He’s dancing in the middle of an Allison/Lydia sandwich, wearing the stupid crown he’s had on his head all day. 

It's sink or swim now. 

~*~

Sink or swim turns into sink almost as soon as the night starts. 

When everyone is dried off and drunk, all the hair is straightened and the cuffs are rolled up, Derek and Scott get them over to the fancy restaurant across the street. Lydia gets mean when she drinks and it's a solid seventy-five minutes of Scott and Derek apologizing to waitresses. Stiles is off in his own little world. He keeps trying to talk to Scott and Derek, but he's a bit fumbly so he ends up eating half a cake to himself before taking a nap on Boyd's shoulder. 

Isaac managed to snag himself a party bus invite through Scott and they talk through dinner, pressed together from their toes to their shoulders. 

But that isn't where Scott sinks. 

No, Scott makes the mistake of thinking his baby-buzz from four beers spread out over the afternoon makes him impervious to getting trashed. He nervously orders a pint at dinner and is amazed when they actually give it to him without asking for his ID. Two more pints and Stiles is racing him, seeing who can finish their drink first. 

Scott wins. He’s certain Stiles lets him.

On the bus Scott feels fucking impervious, takes four of Jackson's 'just drink it you pussy' shots in the bus on the way to the club and by the time they actually get in the door Scott is leaning on Stiles, who thinks Drunk Scott is fucking hilarious. 

He keeps asking if the girl from The Vampire Diaries is going to be here, because Scott loves the girl from The Vampire Diaries. Stiles assures him she will be and Scott nearly shits his pants when he sees her come out of the bathroom later in the night. 

Time goes into a sort of funnel after that. Everything goes in one end the right way, but it all ends up get stretched and mixed and knocked out of order once his big dumb drunk head processes it. He dances, gets drinks, dances some more. Hugs Stiles so tight and tells him “I love you man, I love you so much. You’re my best. Your my friend and you’re my best, Stiles.” 

The next thing he knows he's sitting in a private booth with Allison and she's kissing his throat and he has the worst boner of his life because she's almost touching it and he's going to die if she touches it. Just erupt from embarrassment. 

"It's okay," she murmurs in his ear. "Just relax." 

Allison kisses him slow and deep and the booths are so curved that Scott doesn't really think anyone can see anyway, no one knows that Allison is reaching into his jeans and holy fucking shit, her hand is on his dick and he can't breathe for a second. It's all too weird and good and perfect. Allison is having trouble keeping her balance above him and Scott can't find the energy to do much more than kiss her and stroke her hair while she strokes his - 

And then Isaac is there, hovering over them and Scott says, "Oh fuck. Shit."

Allison and Isaac used to date, why does he always forget that? 

He thinks this is it, this is the dramatic awful painful moment of his high school life. This is the traumatic even that turns him into the 40 Year-Old-Virgin. 

But Isaac just says "Move over" and a few confusing seconds later he's kissing Isaac while Allison giggles and leans down to lick the head of his cock. 

Yeah. Scott loses track of Stiles, to say the least. Especially when Allison leads the both of them to the women's washroom and basically pushes Scott and Isaac into the handicapped stall. 

Funnel effect. It's all kind of groggy, but Scott's pretty sure he sucks a dick. A really nice dick. Isaac's dick. Wow.

They don't really look at each other once they leave the stall and a couple of the girls give Allison some looks that make Scott get angry and he doesn't know what he's yelling at them, but he's really fucking yelling. 

Like, screaming yelling. Allison drags him out while Isaac apologizes.

Back to the bar, a couple shots with Isaac and Allison while they talk about sucking cock, and then - 

Blackout. 

~*~

Stiles sees Isaac and Allison leave with Scott looking like a wet noodle flopping between them around one and his first instinct, through the drunken fog of his brain, is to go back to the hotel and make sure he's okay. 

He finds Lydia first, but she's grinding between Erica and Jackson something fierce so Stiles leaves her the hell alone. Boyd is too drunk to care, Danny is making out with some baby headed actor who was in a couple episodes of CSI: Miami and maybe One Tree Hill at some point. 

He doesn't want to run to Derek like an impotent toddler, not after the whole Lydia-freakout thing, but Stiles belatedly remembers that that's what Derek is here for. He's their bodyguard and if Stiles is drunk and wants to go to bed, why would Derek be angry about that?

But Derek is nowhere to be seen, and after a full half hour of searching the dance floor, Stiles gives up. The club is huge and packed, and Stiles ends up at the bar alone. The bartender asks if she can get the birthday boy something to drink, and he asks for water. 

He's never asked for water before. 

There's a couple of girls from a British pop band lounging around the bar in their crop tops with their legs thirty miles long, but even when one of them grabs him by the belt loops Stiles finds himself saying, "Sorry I have to find my friend."

Which is nuts, because it’s his birthday. Stiles lives for drunk bathroom sex. It’s what gets him to eat his broccoli and set his alarm clock. But tonight just doesn’t feel right. He’s… worried. He has this feeling in between his ribs, this awful sense that he’s hurt Scott. He’s corrupted him. He needs to go apologize, he needs to hold Scott and tell him how sorry he is for being awful. 

Finally, Stiles' search ends at the booths. Derek is sitting down with Heather, the blonde haired girl Stiles used to play with when he was a kid and travelled with his Dad. She gives him a wary look, because Stiles has a reputation for being a drunk asshole and both of those things don't mix well when it's your birthday. 

But Stiles isn't all that drunk anymore, and the loud music is giving him a headache so he slides into the booth with his water and says, "Scott had to leave. We should go back to the hotel."

Derek is surprised, to say the least, but he leaves the club with Stiles and hails a cab for them. The trip wasn't all expenses paid for anyone except Scott, but Scott is never allowed to know that. The bus got them to the club, but everyone has to find their own way back to the hotel. 

Stiles and Derek don't talk much on the ride back. Derek looks almost as tired as Stiles feels.

Lydia texts them a jumble about going for McDonalds with Erica and Jackson and Derek makes her send a picture of her with food to prove she’s there. He only stops worrying when he gets a Snapchat video of Jackson pretending to fuck a Big Mac while Lydia screeches in laughter.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm worried about Scott," Stiles says. "He's never been drunk before. I should have watched him closer."

"It's your birthday," Derek reminds him. "I was the chaperone for you two. I should have been paying better attention."

Stiles smiles to himself. "Oh yeah. It's my birthday." 

18\. He's legal now. But he doesn't say anything, because Stiles is always extra careful nowadays not to make anything weird between them. He can flirt and joke and outright proposition Derek when he's sober, but never when he's drunk. It just feels too honest. 

By the time they get to the hotel Stiles feels more worn out than drunk. He buys two bottles of Gatorade from the pop machine and leans against Derek in the elevator because he just wants the night to be over with. 

Derek walks him to his door and Stiles groans when he opens it. 

Scott is passed the fuck out in his underwear on Stiles' bed and Allison and Isaac are asleep in Scott's. Allison looks like she passed out mid-reverse cowgirl, clothes intact. There are wet towels everywhere and someone definitely threw up. 

There's porn going on the TV. 

Someone room serviced an ice cream sundae and it's now mashed into the carpet.

"What the fuck," Stiles whispers. 

Derek makes a soft hissing noise and Stiles looks at him in shock. 

The hissing noise repeats and then suddenly it's like dam breaks and Derek is howling in laughter. "This is priceless," Derek gasps. "Your eighteenth birthday. You’re sober.” His grin widens and he waves an arm dramatically at the room. "Welcome to adulthood."

Stiles glares at him, but it only lasts for a moment. Then they're both laughing. Stiles shuts the door and punches Derek weakly in the arm. 

"It's my birthday," he says. "I'm sleeping in your room."

~*~

Stiles is asleep and in a t-shirt and his Calvin Klein’s before Derek is even done brushing his teeth. 

Derek is exhausted but he stays up long enough to get a goodnight text from Lydia, then crawls into bed. The bed itself is huge, so at first it's like they're not even sharing it together. He falls asleep fast to the sound of Stiles' breathing and doesn't think he'll wake up until noon the next morning. 

But then a couple hours pass and Derek bumps noses with Stiles in the dark. They must both wake up, because suddenly the room is too quiet and Derek can feel every inch of Stiles' body pressed up against him tense up. 

Derek starts to pull away just as Stiles shoots forward the last little bit and presses their lips together. 

Derek should push him away, but it's late and Stiles is 18 and Derek wants him to feel good. He wants to just hold him down and cover every last inch of Stiles' skin like armour, keep him safe from himself and let him know right into the fabric of his skin that he's worth it, he's worth everything. He's loved, he matters, everyone needs him. Derek needs him. 

Stiles presses in closer, pushes their lips together harder and makes Derek open his mouth. The kisses get slick and deep quick and then Stiles rolls them so Derek is underneath him. He grinds his hips down and Derek isn't hard yet, but he will be. Oh, he definitely will be. 

Stiles sits up and slides his shirt off and Derek wiggles out of the hoodie he put on in case of a drunken Lydia emergency. Stiles' kisses become more and more frantic the more awake he is and his hips move faster, snap harder. His breathing hitches unevenly in Derek's ear like he's about to come and Derek grabs Stiles' hips with his hands. 

"No, no, no. Don't stop—" Stiles whines. 

Derek shushes him and kisses the hinge of his jaw. "Like this," he says, and guides the roll of Stiles' hips into something hard and slow. Stiles makes a low noise that cracks and Derek lets himself moan a little, lets himself let it feel good. But soon he's fully hard and his sleep pants are chaffing, so he rolls Stiles onto his back and kisses him sweetly on the mouth like he's always wanted until Stiles tries to turn it into something hot and dirty. 

"How far do you want to go?" Derek asks. 

Stiles' breath catches and he says, "All the way" without really thinking about it. Derek knows Stiles probably isn't a virgin. He's stood guard outside of a lot of bathroom hookups, and that one memorable trip out on the boat with Ben from Stiles' group therapy. 

But he can't go full out with Stiles. Not like this. 

"How about we just..." Derek says. 

He tugs at the waistband of Stiles' underwear until he gets them off, then lets Stiles pull his pajama pants down. He doesn't expect Stiles' hand on his cock to be as hesitant as it is, but once he makes Derek groan, Derek can't seem to stop. He gets his hand on Stiles' cock and kisses him so hard it almost hurts. There's complimentary hand lotion in the bathroom, but Derek doesn't want to break this apart, afraid it'll make things more awkward than it needs to be. Stiles is leaking so much anyway. It's just on the wrong side of painful, but Derek hardly notices. Not with the way Stiles is shaking, small tremors up and down his spine. 

"I'm gonna come," Stiles warns. 

Derek kisses his cheek. "Then do it already."

Stiles laughs while he comes over the inside of Derek’s wrist, the noise going shaky and high in his throat until he collapses back against the bed. 

"Just jerk off on me," he mumbles. "Just fucking... Oh God, just— "

Derek wants to tell him to shut up, stop saying stuff like that or he's going to come, but that's the point, isn't it? "You're so lazy," Derek says without heat, jerking himself off at an almost leisurely pace compared to what Stiles had been doing. 

"Oh holy shit," Stiles breathes. "You’re fucking beautiful."

For the first time Derek notices that he can see the barest lines of Stiles figure from the blue glow of the touch screen alarm clock beside the bed, that Stiles can see him too, watch Derek get himself off onto Stiles' stomach. It's all too much, a mix of everything he's feared and everything he's wanted and he has to keep thinking 'It's legal, it's legal, he's only three years younger than me... technically'. 

"Please come on me," Stiles says softly against his ear, wrapping one hand around the back of Derek's neck and the other over the hand Derek's working himself with. 

With everything that’s happened, Derek’s mind somehow gets stuck on, ‘Stiles said please’ and he will never admit that that’s what makes him come.

Derek's orgasm goes from his toes to his teeth and he thinks he says, "Oh fuck, Stiles," but he can't be sure. 

It takes forever to catch his breath and before he can panic Stiles just cuddles up against his side and kisses his temple, humming 'Happy Birthday to Me'. 

~*~

In the morning Derek isn't in bed and Stiles is covered in dried come. He sees a note on the nightstand but he's too embarrassed and angry to read it, because this is Derek's room and it's seven in the morning and he couldn't even be here after.... 

Whatever. It wasn't sex. They just made out. And jerked each other off. Lame. 

Except it wasn't lame. Not at all. 

Stiles doesn't cry in the shower. 

Much. 

~*~

The note reads 'CALL UR DAD'. Stiles crumples it up and throws it at the wall along with the TV remote. 

Then he calls his Dad. 

He doesn’t say much other than “Yeah” and “Okay”, and when his Dad says, “Are you sure you’re not upset?” Stiles mumbles “No Dad” before hanging up in his ear. 

His toes seem so far away, so pale against the carpet, and he can’t catch his breath for a second. The room smells like sex. Stiles ears are ringing, and it’s times like these that make him wonder what it’s like to be alone in the middle of the sea. 

~*~

Scott doesn't really wake up all Saturday. He feels like he's dead, a little bit. Standing up is a no-go, so he vetoes the next club on Saturday night. Isaac and Allison come hang out in his room before they go to the club and Allison offers to stay behind and just chill in the room with him.

"It's okay," Scott promises. "I'm probably just going to sleep."

She brushes her fingers through his hair and Isaac clears his throat from the other bed, the one Stiles hasn't come back to. Scott was a total flake on him yesterday, and it looks like Stiles is returning the favour.

"About yesterday..." Isaac finally says. 

They all sort of freeze like they've heard a ghost. 

"Umm..." Scott thinks he should apologize, but he doesn't really know where to begin. Sorry we had a threesome in a public washroom? He doesn't really remember much of it, outside of the booth and getting a mouthful of Isaac's come. 

'Have a few drinks, but don't get wasted like Stiles,' his Mom said. 'Make sure you wear a condom,' she said. 

He somehow doesn't think his Mom thought any of her advice would be necessary, definitely didn’t think all of her advice would be ignored. 

"It was... kind of fun," Allison admits. She blushes and puts her head in her hands. "Really fun."

Isaac rubs his neck, where he isn't wearing a scarf almost as if to show off the ring of hickeys around his throat. Scott knows a couple of those are his fault and it makes him smile. "Yeah, we should... Maybe... Do that again sometime?" 

"Like soon," Allison agrees. "Definitely soon."

"I'd suggest right now, if I weren't so fucking hungover," Scott groans. Isaac throws a pillow at him and Allison catches it before it whumps Scott in the face. 

"Well..." she starts.

Isaac shifts on the bed, lips quirking up into a smirk that makes the bottom drop out of Scott’s stomach. Oh fuck. 

And fifteen minutes later Scott is watching in utter amazement as Allison rides Isaac like a prize pony on the bed across from him. He tries to correlate what he's seeing with the girl who showed him around school on the first day, the girl who uses butterfly clips to keep her hair out of her eyes. And Isaac, the big gangly drama nerd who once cried in front of Scott just from talking about Travis Barker's drum work. 

They're fucking in the bed beside him. Isaac is staring right at him, the colour going right to his cheeks as he grips the sheets. He's still wearing his socks. Scott is so hard he can feel his pulse in his dick. 

None of them end up going to the club.

Scott officially loses his virginity to Allison and Isaac before it's even dark out.

"Happy birthday, Stiles," Scott tells the inside of Allison's thigh. 

She's better than any cake he's ever tasted.

~*~ 

At four in the morning Stiles makes his grand return to their hotel room. Isaac rolls onto the floor and tries to hide under the bed, but Allison just grabs a big shirt off the floor and helps Scott find his underwear. 

Stiles is slung between Danny and Derek, so drunk that his legs aren't working. Scott isn't one to judge because he was in the same position last night, but there's a major difference. Scott had been laughing when he got back to the room. 

Stiles is fucking sobbing. 

"Get him in the shower," Derek says. 

Scott throws all the wet towels from last night into the shower (because this hotel room has a tub and a shower, how the fuck) and presses himself against the wall while Danny and Derek get him to sit down in the tub.

"We've got this," Scott tells Danny. 

He looks more than relieved to get the hell out of there. "Isaac? Really?" he asks. 

Scott glares at him. "Just go, Danny."

"I hate him. I fuck-fucking hate him," Stiles whimpers. 

Derek takes the detachable shower head off the wall and shushes Stiles. He turns the water on and makes sure it's warm on his hand, and it's a lot like watching Derek hose down a soapy toddler. Except Stiles is covered in regurgitated Jager and his head is rolling around, eyes going in and out of focus. He starts heaving bile and Scott rubs his back. 

"Should we take him to the hospital?" Scott asks. 

"He'll be okay. We've had worse." 

It doesn't seem possible. Scott has seen Stiles in a lot of bad states, but this is something else. He can't stop crying, keeps grabbing onto Derek's shirt. 

"Why doesn't he want me?" Stiles asks over and over. "What did - What did I do?"

They get him stripped down to his underwear and Allison has Scott's bed remade, because they'd been fucking on Stiles' bed since five o'clock. She has the ice bucket out for him and Derek guides him down into the sheets and then stays sitting beside him, petting his hair while he muffles his crying into Derek's side. 

"I miss him," Stiles repeats a couple times. "I miss him. I miss Dad."

"I know, Stiles. It's okay," Derek says. Scott sits on Stiles' other side and starts rubbing his back again. "We're here for you."

"I'm not good enough," he mumbles into Derek's ribs.

"You're good enough," Scott says. "We love you."

For some reason that just makes Stiles cry harder, so Scott resolves to just not say anything. Isaac comes back to the room with a couple bottles of water from the lobby and he talks with Allison at the door for a couple seconds before they say they're going to go. 

Stiles finally falls asleep with his puffy face smushed against Derek's leg. They manage to get him onto a pillow and Derek and Scott clean up the aftermath without really talking. 

When they're in the bathroom Scott finally gets the courage to ask what happened. 

Something like shame passes over Derek's face before he clears his throat and says, "Mr. Stilinski was supposed to be home for the month..."

"But there was an emergency?" Scott guesses. 

Derek shakes his head like 'What can you do?' He hangs Stiles' wet t-shirt over the shower wall, looking like he wants to say something he isn't strictly allowed to say.

"I'm going to tell you something, but you can't fucking say a word about it. Not to anyone. Promise me."

"I promise." 

Derek cranes his neck to look out the door. Stiles is still passed out. "I only got this job because my sister is Mr. Stilinski's personal assistant. And she said..." He bites the inside of his cheek and sags back against the shower door. "Stiles' Dad doesn't know anything is wrong. He thinks Stiles is just acting out because he's a teenager, but from the time I've spent with Stiles? He needs help. Professional help." 

"But he already has - "

"Yeah, and he doesn't take it seriously. You can take him to the water but you're fucked to make him drink, you know? Or not drink." Derek points at Stiles sleeping in the other room. "That kid has all the opportunity in the world and it's getting pissed away because his Dad can't see he's depressed."

Scott's heart swoops in his chest. His first instinct is to deny anything is wrong, because Scott just wants Stiles to be happy and if Stiles says he's happy then maybe he is - 

But he knows that isn't true. He's always known it. Stiles is spoiled and bored and has everything Scott could ever dream of, but it's all Michael Kors watches in an empty mansion. Both Lydia and Stiles are fucking miserable, but Lydia… She has goals. She’s hellbent on Ivy League, knows when to pull the plug on most nights. Stiles has no ambition. He’s smart, but he doesn’t care. The only reason his grades have improved is from all the time spent doing homework at Scott’s coffee table. 

Scott's never seen someone cry like that, like the world was ending, and when he looks at Derek he can see the burden and how heavy it's weighing on him. 

"You really like him, don't you?" Scott asks. It's there and gone in a flash, but Scott can see the surprise. Derek knows he's been caught. "Maybe you should just tell him."

Derek shakes his head, looking down at the wet tiles. "I can’t… I couldn’t—” He rubs his nose with a knuckle and looks everywhere but at Scott. “Does Stiles really seem stable enough to be in a relationship right now?I don't think anyone knows just how bad that kid is trying to hit the self-destruct button."

"What can we do?" Scott asks. 

Derek shrugs, and in the silence that follows they both end up staring out the bathroom door. It's like no matter what they're eventually drawn back to the shivering lump of Stiles under the blankets. 

"I'll think of something," Derek says, but it sounds a lot like 'I don't know'. He pulls his room keycard out of his wallet. There's a picture on the inside sleeve of a teenage girl in a graduation gown, but Derek snaps it shut before Scott can really tell who it is. "You can have my room for the night if you want."

Scott clasps his hands together, refusing the key. "I can watch Stiles. Really."

Derek doesn't even argue with him. He just rubs his eyes and straightens up. "If that's okay... I have to go check on Lydia anyway. Just make sure he doesn't roll onto his back."

"Can do."

Scott stares at Stiles after Derek's gone, but it makes him too sad so he turns out the lights and puts on some reruns of The Simpsons to keep him awake. Just in case.

~*~

On the bus back to Beacon Hills the next morning, Stiles very pointedly sits beside Boyd. He doesn't mean it as an offense to Scott or Derek (okay, maybe a little bit to Derek, who hasn't said anything about Stiles' unexpected birthday present), but his head is slamming and his eyes feel sticky from crying. He's angry and sick and Boyd is a quiet dude. 

He doesn't make silence weird. When he talks it's as if they haven't gone half an hour without even looking at each other, never gets offended when Stiles doesn't answer him. For all that Stiles loves to hear the sound of his own voice... Well, he really doesn't like to hear the sound of his own voice. He talks a lot, but his favourite people are always the ones who don't need to fill the empty spaces with words. The ones that don’t say he’s weird for covering his ears when he has to talk about hard stuff.

Boyd's empty spaces just happen to be bigger than other people's, and he’s not close enough for Stiles to worry about having to confide in him. It's perfect for a hangover the calibre of the one Stiles currently has. 

He stretches out over half of the back bench on the bus and zones out, too pissed at his Dad and sick to his stomach to really sleep, but he's not exactly awake either. 

After a solid hour of humming bus engine and low, tired voices, Boyd tucks his Nintendo DS under his leg and turns towards Stiles. "This was really fun," he says. 

"The parts that I remember were pretty wicked," Stiles agrees. He's thinking of the handjobs in Derek's room and his face feels hot, but it's dark at the back of the bus so Boyd probably doesn't notice. 

Boyd snorts and rolls his eyes, but Stiles knows that Boyd had to be escorted out of the club on the first night for stumbling.

"I can't believe none of us were ID'd."

Stiles can definitely believe it. Every bouncer in both of the clubs they crashed was an employee of Sheriff Ltd and knew it was in their best interests to look the other way. Otherwise Stiles has a pretty convincing fake and guys who watch doors at clubs in LA are rarely the type to read tabloids about underage celebutants. 

"Birthday luck, I guess," he mumbles. "This hangover is killing me. Next year I'm just gonna buy a cake, smoke a bowl and watch anime." Which is what he did last year

"Count me in," Boyd says. Stiles' gets stuck on it, the words pulling at the back of his head. Even when Boyd says, "I think I'm going to live a rum and coke free life from now on," all Stiles hears is "Count me in."

As if...

"If you ever wanna, like, hang out at my place..." Stiles leaves it open ended, self-conscious. 

Boyd doesn't seem to notice the way Stiles sits up, the way his fingers knot together. Or he does notice and just doesn't say anything. "Sure, man. What's your cell number?" Stiles gives it to him and Boyd sighs and slumps back in his seat. "I need a nap."

Stiles makes a noise of agreement and waits until Boyd's eyes are closed to check his phone. 

There's a single message from an unknown number. It just says "This is Boyd."

He's known Boyd since the seventh grade. Invited him without question to every birthday party, bowling alley, movie night, pool party, and unsupervised rager from pre-pubesence. He's pretty sure Boyd was at his bar mitzvah, remembers getting a card with $100 in it from the Boyd family anyway. 

But he never had Boyd's phone number. Never thought to ask. 

~*~

When Scott gets home it's dark out. Derek drives him from the mall parking lot, where they drop off the party bus, to his house. Stiles and Lydia are asleep in the backseat and Derek seems content just to listen to his Mumford and Sons CD without talking. They don't really have much they want to say outside of Stiles, and that's a no-go with him slipping in and out of consciousness behind them. 

"I'll text you after," Scott says softly and Derek just nods at him. 

He uses his key to get in the front door. The house is quiet and the driveway was empty, so his Mom must still be on shift. 

Scott takes a long shower to wipe the filth of the weekend off. It's good to be home; Scott always feels restless without his own toilet. 

He tries to have some one-on-one time in the shower, thinking about Isaac and Allison and holy shit, Isaac and Allison. He lost his virginity. In a threesome. Then did it again. Instead of finding it sexy in the privacy of his empty house, it just makes Scott feel kind of... weird. 

Almost as if the whole weekend was a dream, something that would be too complicated and perfect to actually happen. He didn't even get to tell Stiles! It wasn't something he was going to text to him, and after what happened Saturday night Scott doesn't really feel like the whole situation would make as much of an impact on Stiles. Not when he's still obviously upset about his Dad bailing on his birthday. 

Scott understands dead-beat Dads. He could write an anthology on 'Why Your Father Is Scum and Doesn't Fucking Matter', but Scott met Stiles' Dad.

John Stilinski, elusive multi-billionaire, had been barbecuing in a fleecy pullover with a wolf on it while Stiles chattered at him and held a plastic platter of hamburger patties. Their introduction had been, "Dad, this is Scott. We have first period together. He lives sort of near the grocery store? His Mom is really cool, we hang out at his house all the time after school and do homework."

Stiles' Dad had put down his spatula to shake Scott's hand, said, "Anyone who can get my kid to do his homework is top in my books."

His Dad wouldn't let Stiles or Lydia have a beer at dinner and afterwards he sent everyone (meaning Scott, Allison, Lydia, Stiles and a couple of their cousins) into the home theater to watch Monsters University. 

It was the most mundane, normal family barbeque of Scott's life. No fistfights. No too drunk uncles. There was cake and Derek spent most of the night with a girl who Scott is now 95% sure was his sister, Laura. 

It was like someone had flipped a switch and Stiles' freefall had stopped. When Scott thinks about Saturday night he gets this awful sick feeling in his stomach. It comes with the very real understanding that the Stiles at the barbeque was a show and the Stiles crying so hard into the pillow that he burst blood vessels clean around his eyes was the real deal. 

And that that side of Stiles was one his Dad never sees. 

Scott gets out of the shower and sits on the toilet lid in his towel, staring down at his phone. It's pretty clear what has to be done, but Scott understands why no one has said anything before. Stiles doesn't want his Dad to know how bad it is. Lydia is probably the same. And John definitely knows they're troubled, but they both go to councillors twice a week. Lydia has anger management, Stiles has had the same therapist since his Mom died—they both go to group therapy for their binge drinking. Stiles spent a week in rehab last summer, after his Dad found out via Perez Hilton that Stiles had taken ecstasy at a rave. 

Scott rubs his hand through his hair. He hates this, hates worrying about something he has absolutely no control over. Stiles is his own person—Scott can't do anything to make him any less impulsive and broken. 

There's no quick fix. No easy way out. 

Fuck. 

He opens up a new chat on his phone, Derek's name burning itself against the back of his eyelids. It feels like a betrayal, but he knows it isn't. 

'i have an idea. ur not gonna like it' he sends. 

~*~

The kitchen light is on when they get back to the house. Lydia makes Derek take her stuff up to her room, but Stiles goes to the fridge first to get something greasy. 

There's a white box of gourmet cupcakes on the top shelf. The icing says 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY STILES!'. 

He thinks about throwing them in the trash, but he ends up eating four in a row before lying down on the couch. Stiles doesn't want to cry. His eyes are still sore from last night, but the house is so big and silent all the time and he ends up with tears streaming down over his cheeks and he's too lazy to wipe them away. 

"Stiles?" Derek asks from the threshold. "I'm gonna head home."

"Yep."

"Are you okay?" 

"Yep."

There's a pause, the span of a couple heartbeats, and then Derek says, "About Friday..."

Stiles rolls over so his face is pressed into the couch cushion. "Just get the fuck out of here please."

He doesn't hear Derek move, but the front door opens and shuts a few seconds later and the proximity alarm beeps as Derek heads back down the driveway. 

Lydia comes downstairs a bit later, freshly showered. She sits with his feet in her lap and puts on a Paranormal Witness marathon. Stiles can't pay attention, and he's not sure it's the hangover. 

"There are cupcakes in the fridge," he says after a while. 

"I saw." Her voice is tight. 

They were supposed to be here. Both of them. Lydia and Stiles never talk about it. They don't even acknowledge it because it's just all the time now. No one is ever home. No one gives enough of a fuck to be home. Not Lydia's Mom. Not Stiles' Dad. They just don't fucking matter. 

"They think we can handle it," Lydia says after a while. "Mom told me they can leave us because they trust us."

Stiles laughs, hard like the lump in his throat. "They shouldn't." 

They really shouldn’t, because if they think they can trust Stiles not to be a fuck up, if they think they can show him they don’t fucking care and expect him to function—well, his Dad’s got another thing coming. 

**Author's Note:**

> stiles and lydia's parents were married when they were already teenagers. they're great friends, best friends even, but they dont see themselves as brother and sister and infrequently play a game called kiss-chicken, where they see who can go the farthest kiss-wise before they chicken out
> 
> sometimes the game goes too far, but it's pretty harmless


End file.
